Names, Names, Names.

Names aren't easy.
They're essential, but not easy.

I can't get started on a play until I know the names of the characters I'm working with.
Not just the main characters. All the characters.
I don't like the idea of having to change a character's name once I'm in the process of writing the play.

In Welcome to Arroyo's, all the names came early, with the exception of Officer Derek. He was once Officer Lau, back when he was a Hawaiian dude. Later he became--well, I don't remember what he became, but he became something else before he became Officer Derek. I would never have changed his name if he wasn't changing races, and if his name wasn't becoming an essential part of the story.

In every play, the names show up early, and they stick around as long as possible. I've got an unfinished play called Kill Aurora, and I'm kind of convinced that half the reason I can't move forward on the play is that I misnamed somebody in that cast. Not Aurora though.

I'm so in love with with the name Aurora that I named my car Aurora, much as my mom's old Accord came to be known as Molly after I wrote Welcome to Arroyo's. I fall in love with the names of my characters. They work their ways into my skin somehow. Even my special hidden personal e-mail address is derived from a character I created way back in 1998 for an online wrestling game. He'll show up in a screenplay someday soon (it's actually a quarter-finished already), mainly because I can't work that name out of my system.

Guernica got written entirely because of that name. I knew nothing about the play when I started, other than I had this main character named Guernica, and she had this huge, heavy, weighted name, and she had to live up to it. I think she does. Tyree became her sidekick in that play--derived from Tiresias, the prophet who couldn't see. I never mention that in Guernica, but it's the defining quality I always come back to when working with Tyree. She simply can't see.

That's coming to the forefront in Tyree, the sequel to Guernica and the second in what will inevitably be at least a trilogy. I can't see what I'm doing in this play--I'm following Tyree as she leaves Guernica and Slate behind and stumbles in what may or may not be a preordained future. It's fun to be flying blind like this. And maybe it's just a dumb linguistic coincidence, but I really think that the name is what led me to be working like this.

Now here's the whole inspiration for this post, the lead buried seven paragraphs deep: I'm having trouble with character names in Tyree. So far, we've got Woman 1, Woman 2, Woman 3, and Man 1. As evidenced by the names, I know next to nothing about these folks. They're serving their purposes so far though, so I'm kind of happy with them. These names fit the play--it's open to interpretation, it's about perspective, it's not really giving the audience (or me as of yet) a whole lot of answers.

The bigger issue, for me at least, is that I've got a character with a placeholder name for maybe the first time ever. I'm maybe halfway through the play, and the name I've given to Tyree's mother (oooh...there's your gift for reading this far--a hint about the play's actual content!) isn't something that I'm convinced will stick around much past this first draft. I'm calling her Umi right now--fans of Mos Def (or as my dad referred to him right after he met him "Def Mos") will get the reference.

Now don't get me wrong--Umi is a great name. Mos Def's Umi is a charming woman. And the word Umi is kind of gorgeous and powerful. And a Muslim term of maternal endearment, it carries some interesting weight, especially in a play (or a series of plays) that is steeped in some kind of Christan religious background. So it's got a lot going for it.

But it doesn't feel like it fits. As the play's written right now, Tyree never calls Umi anything other than "Ma." I'm not sure Tyree, or any other character, for that matter, is ever going to have a reason to call Umi by name. If not, maybe she'll stay Umi as she is. Otherwise, we'll see how my hand is forced.

Next Post (possibly): Dutton Carver, Milton Fosbury, and The Japanese Ocho Cinco.